Poetry / Shallow Flows

All the air of this world I still taste with each breath.
I’ll inhale the same every day ‘til my death.
Try this speak I beseech or just leave it alone.
By the tempo of life I’ll revive a lost throne.

With the flow growing slow I am towed by its wake.
For these waves I’m a slave with no surface to break.
I’ll emerge a clean soul from this rinsing of sense.
Too much trust I give full with their tolls grow immense.

I was made for this time though I’ll wait in the dark.
Like a mime I stay silent for sounds will soon spark.
This tune will turn echo and break as it bends.
My music box holds ‘til the sense of such ends.

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